Speak To Me Again
by Lisboa Miraflores
I saw you yesterday, skipping third period
under the bleachers
hotboxing. You whispered
my name, I was almost deaf. I
picked up a flake of metal and walked behind you
where the shadows could not
stretch.
You claim to be blind,
my eyes grow paler each day and I have
seen
ghosts running
through your front door. One of us said it's a chess
game
and dropped a pawn.
You said it must be better this way, and that
we must hold ourselves
inside where no one
can ever hear us. I did not
reply. My throat is dried into a Sahara,
cracked lines of flesh. I am mute
without you.
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